Hawke
by ValkyriePoet
Summary: She was a mage, but more. Incredible. Fiery. Witty. Broken. Various drabbles starring humourous Hawke who hasn't had the easiest of times dealing with the consequences of life.
1. She is Resolute

Hawke

They all saw it – they must have as it was almost entirely unmistakeable. It must have loomed over them like thick and dangerous storm clouds, taunting, in the distance.

But _there_.

Fenris saw it. He knew he saw it; the changes in her movements and her confidence and her faith in her beliefs. She was a mage, that was true, but she had never given him any reason to doubt _her_ specifically (even if he did not trust in her decisions entirely, she had his loyalty and he could respect her attempts, however misguided he felt they were). It was hard to doubt her.

Hawke.

But since Carver's death (no, not _passing_ , he was _dead_ and that was that), Hawke's shoulder had a chip. She was angry, likely at the world and at herself. Witty remarks used evermore to deflect any questions on her wellbeing.

" _How are you holding up, Hawke?"_ Quiet, sincere questions from Varric in an aside.

" _Well, the sky's still blue, so that's a start."_ Would be her reply.

An answer, but not an answer and though it may seem to quench questions to some, it did little for Fenris. Yet, there was nothing he could do or say on the subject as he could not even begin to understand what she was going through.

Now, she'd lost a sister _and_ a brother to the Blight. He half expected her to go off on some glorious mission to join the Wardens, if not to attempt to rid the world of the darkspawn filth in her silent rage. A silly thought, perhaps, but now, Hawke was all but alone in this city. An apostate and her mother, perhaps now with money, but Fenris could see that this meant nothing.

" _...my family is here. If it weren't for them, I'd be well away from Kirkwall. It's suffocating."_ She had told him once, in private and he could see it in those eyes of hers that it was true.

" _They need me here, though, and I will not abandon Mother. I will not abandon Carver, though the wretch seems to think less of me every day. They're...all I have left. Uncle Gamlen is hardly much of a family, with how quickly he'd sell us out to save his own hide...but he's here too."_ And she would stay – she would risk her life for them.

" _I've already lost Bethany! I can't lose you too, Carver!"_ There had been a weakness in her voice that day that no one among them had heard before.

Hawke had always been a strong woman and with a bitter note, Fenris knew that in Tevinter, she would have been swept up quickly amongst the masses of magisters for her sheer natural talent in the arcane. She was unshakeable in the face of danger.

" _What the hell is that thing?! On second thought, I'd rather not know. Let's just stab it and get it over with. It's starting to look at me funny and I'm not sure I like that."_

Except when she'd lost Carver.

She'd spoken little on the way out of the Deep Roads, allowing Varric to take the reins and lead. But she never faltered in their mission. Quiet as she may have been, Hawke never attempted to fall on her metaphoric blade in grief. She stood tall, solemn and quiet, but in instances when Varric could not lead, she did. Without a word, they all followed and they _knew_ that somehow she would get them out.

" _They took Bethany. They took Carver. They will not take anyone else from me."_

She was there for them. To be strong, even when all she wanted to do was crumble. It did her no justice, this obvious guilt she must have felt inside. Fenris wasn't sure why he found it so alluring – to watch her struggle as she did. In ways, it made him feel like a monster, which was ironic in itself because _she_ was the one who was supposed to be led astray so much easier than he.

But she wasn't.

She drew her line in the sand and she toed it, never crossing it.

She never crossed that line. Never shook, even though he could see in faint twitches that perhaps she wanted to.

 _She wanted to scream, cry, swear, curse everyone to the Void and back. But it would do nothing and Marian knew it. So, she could suffer in her grief and guilt, or pick herself together the only way she knew how._

"Honestly, Fenris, the way you stare at me sometimes." Her voice tsked as the elf regained himself and his scowl.

Bright eyes peered at him, and he could not read them anymore, but there was a smile on her face and she looked amused and he was glad they were alone in his 'borrowed' mansion.

"Keep it up and people will start talking."

"They're all ready talking." He replied sourly.

"Well, then they'll start talking more." She replied easily, leaning back in her seat with a seemingly content sigh.

"Let them talk. We're doing nothing."

"I can still think of a few things, to be quite honest."

"I'm sure you could." His response was dry, but he watched her with the very faintest of smiles.

Then he steeled himself once more.

Hawke watched himself and allowed her grin to grow.

"Varric is right. You _are_ a sour pickle. You brood more than at least half of Thedas."

"I do not brood."

"And I'm the Queen of Fereldan."

"You certainly act like it sometimes."

"Aaaah, thank you for the compliment, kind Ser."

"It wasn't one."

She blissfully ignored him and he was glad that she seemed a little like herself. Though he doubted she would ever be herself again. And he'd never even known her true self. He never would, he imagined.

But...

He was okay with what he had. She was fine the way she was.

So long as she didn't turn into an abomination.


	2. She is Guilty

Hawke should have known from the very beginning that everything would go wrong. That she would fail yet another loved one. The way the bodies kept piling up in her past, she knew it would never end.

Bethany had been the first blood – and once upon a time, Hawke would have bristled at _anyone_ attempting to place the blame upon her shoulders. There was no way that she could have controlled it. That wasn't her fault – it was the Blight. The darkspawn – her sister's very sudden rash _courage_.

It couldn't have been her fault entirely, she had once told herself. There was the Blight and the darkspawn and the civil war and Father...Father not being there when they all needed him.

Perhaps, however, even _his_ death was her fault. Perhaps she was secretly blamed for that too. Now that she was older and wiser, she would not dare argue it. Only steel herself into silence and listen to the accusations and wonder what she could have done differently.

But Bethany...Bethany should not have died. That was all too certain. Her life was ripped way too soon and Hawke could remember the bravery her sister held as she went up against that _creature_. Then the blood and the sounds haunted her.

" _Greif?! Do not speak to me of grief! This is your fault! How could you have let her charge off like that?! You're little sister...my little girl..."_ Mother's words would always be there, reminding her in those dark nights of her first set in stone failure.

They would always ring true, even so many years later.

" _I never meant it, Darling..."_ Lies.

If it was never felt, it would have never have been said. Hawke felt some resentment over this responsibility she had been forced into – Carver had felt the same. She could tell from his steely looks, even when he said nothing.

It was never _just_ Mother who placed the blame upon the eldest sibling.

Had Father been alive, none of these deaths would have occurred. He never would have let Bethany do what she did and she would not have died. Father would have made Carver stay _home_ and so very far away from those Deep Roads and had gone himself.

Father would never have lost himself to the Blight.

Father would have been able to protect Mother. To sense the blood magic and the darkness and Mother would never have gone to investigate those _lilies_ and she would have been more careful and Father would have _known_ and Mother would be alive and not some dead patchwork doll of a crazed necromancer.

But Father was dead. Malcolm Hawke was just a memory. A spirit, perhaps, in the Fade, shaking his head at his eldest daughters failings.

Why was she the one who had to take responsibility?

Why? Why did they have to die?

Why did she have to _fail_ in such a simple task of protecting them?!

She had failed.

Her family was gone and all she could do was build up walls around herself to not let her friends see how this ate her up inside.

The snide remarks and witty comments came faster, deflection in the face of questions asking about her well-being.

" _Hawke...how are you holding up...?"_ Varric, ever so well-meaning would ask and he'd know and she'd know and they all knew that the answer he'd get was not the one he wanted.

But it was expected.

" _Blood's not comin' out my ears yet, so I suppose I'm still alive."_ Which was a start to nothing.

Making light of her issues was a speciality. No one talked about her family anymore – not without her initiating the conversations. Which never happened if she could help it.

It was easier to try and ignore her failures, but how could she?

Wherever the dead go after their souls passed through the Fade, Hawke hoped she never followed. She didn't deserve such a kindness to see those faces again. Not after everything she'd done and not done.

But, the apparent Maker had a sense of humour and had no wish for Hawke to die so easily anyway.

Years go on and scuffles happen and Qunari attacks happen and duels to the death happen and _Maker's breath_ blood magic happens too!

Templars, Mages, Assassins, Dragons, Wyverns...

By all odds, Hawke should have died so long ago and it was a running joke amongst her rabble.

The damned _Maker_ had a real sick sense of fucking humour.

" _I can't tell you what you want to hear, Hawke."_ Fenris had told her after Mother died.

It was simple, honest, and Hawke appreciated that. He would never lie to her. Never lull her into some false sense of confidence that she could not have played any hands in these events. They both knew she could have done better, and he allowed her to feel what she felt, if only in a brief hope that it would help.

It wouldn't, but Fenris tried and that in itself was comforting.

Even so, those words themselves were exactly what she wanted to hear. To give her the justification to hate herself, whether he entirely realised it or not. How could he? Perhaps to some extent, he'd understood what she was feeling, but never in entirety. He didn't remember his family – or any loss beyond what his own two hands and his sword had done.

Besides if he'd told her _"it's going to be okay"_ she probably would have tried to throttle him for the empty meaning in those words.

It could _never_ be okay. There would be no comfort. The ends would always be loose and Hawke briefly wondered if she'd ever die at all.

" _You will be the death of me."_ He'd told her once, brisk, rough, heated.

" _Careful,"_ She replied. " _Mother said that once and look what happened. It's a bit of a curse, I think."_

She had been grinning as she said it and she could see the flash in his eyes because though he expected a remark, that sort of remark was not it. Hawke, however, could not help herself to it. Humour in her own losses and mistakes – where would she be without it? In a corner somewhere rocking back and forth, probably.

" _Your glibness..."_ He began, watching her still _"does you no credit, whatsoever."_

" _Well, now it's written in stone. When we have a son, I'm definitely naming him Fenris Jr. If only in hopes that he gains your brilliant cheery demeanour."_

Fenris stared at her then, and she was sure his face was set in a permanent scowl. Obviously, the implication that they would even have their relationship go that far had thrown him off. Hawke was ever so faintly amused.

" _That...was not funny."_

" _Really? I thought it was hilarious."_

" _You're about as funny as the Blight."_

" _Good to know my sense of humour is killer then. Maybe that's what got Bethany and Carver. I always wondered why people covered their ears when I spoke. Problem to the Blight, Solved! Marian Hawke only needs to shut up for ten minutes at a time!"_ She gestured wildly then, laughing.

One look at Fenris though, told her he was not falling for this and he was not amused by her attempts at humour.

Not that she blamed him, but it was her only defense. Her only means of dealing with her hurt. Her only means of telling him how she felt without actually telling him because that would be admitting weakness and the Hawke mage refused to be weak.

Hell, she was apparently practically immortal, after all.

It was never water or words that rolled from Hawke's back when she spoke. It was blood, she decided. Likely the blood of poor virgins too, she noted dryly and with a faint snort.

" _You need to stop."_ Four words from him and they almost took away her breath, but they still didn't and she couldn't help herself.

" _What? And ruin my reputation for being the most snarky and intelligent and witty mage in all of Kirkwall?!"_

" _Hawke."_ Right.

Enough was enough then.

Her expression sobered immediately and she dared not tear her eyes from his. There was softness there; a softness that had been there so much more as of late. He knew, they both knew, and it was okay, but not really okay.

" _I cannot tell you..."_

" _It's never going to be okay, Fenris."_ She interrupted him, all playfulness gone.

" _I'm not okay."_ It was simple, hard, but simple.

He sighed, grabbing her wrist firmly, but not roughly. He could be rough, and yes she liked it, but he knew what she needed. He tugged her close.

" _I know."_

Acceptance.

There was nothing she could do to fix any of what had happened. Her family was gone, but she still had Fenris.

Her friends.

" _I will not fail again."_ Conviction.

Promise.

She would not let anyone else die due to her own incompetence.


	3. She is Strong

_Squelch._

Leather boots running and ducking and weaving between pillars; eyes wide and chest heaving, but a grin was there.

She liked the thrill of the chase – even if it was her being chased. She would still likely tire out well before the Arishok did and Fenris knew that.

That stupid woman was going to get herself killed if she didn't do something now. How careless of her, or was it? She was not herself, and that was certain. Her mother's death was still fresh in her mind, more likely than not. This better not have been one last ditch attempt at her own life – even she would run out of luck if it was pushed hard enough.

But there it was; the magic.

He could feel it before he saw it; lyrium in his skin tingling as he watched frosty white dance from the end of her staff and before the Arishok could react, his feet were frozen in place.

The Qunari roared and there would not be much time until he broke free; Hawke would have to act quickly if she wanted to land any damage at all. But she did land damage and while it was not nearly as significant as any had hoped, it was something.

Lightning now danced in the air and Hawke laughed and Fenris wondered if she was finding some healing salvation in this fight – she looked more like the Hawke he knew instead of the Hawke she'd become.

(If he knew her less, he'd think she'd become an abomination, but now she had nothing left to be desired with her mother dead).

The Qunari's sword lashed out towards the nimble mage who spun away narrowly, her robes being ripped in the process.

Fenris felt concern then that perhaps she would die during this duel. That perhaps she was throwing herself away, slowly, but surely. Perhaps she was too far gone into her grief to fight harder for her life...

But the magic returned and the Qunari was slammed down onto the concrete with a loud _crack_. Hawke heaved enough energy to throw together another spell, only to have it fall apart as she was shoulder checked with enough force to send her body flying in the opposite direction.

 _Smack._

"A- ah..." Her voice shook, her back to that wall and she stared up at the Arishok with a sudden grim expression on her face.

"Well, you're pretty tough." She said, voice wheezy as she struggled to her feet and she wobbled and Fenris saw blood slide from her nose to her mouth and dribble from her chin as she grinned.

Only she would take this so lightly. The impending idea that she could die was an idea nearly impossible.

"Damn it all, Hawke, this is _serious_." Aveline had uttered beside him.

Serious indeed; unless Hawke had a plan. Which was feasible, but...Fenris had doubts. She'd been going about this so haphazardly in comparison to her typical 'style', as it were.

She was not used to fighting alone, but she had thrown herself out there to do it anyway. He had to wonder what her intentions were. Was she fighting for the city? Or was this an attempt to die?

"I'll have you know though..." Hawke breathe, raising herself further up just before she had to duck a swing – some dark hairs fluttered behind her to suggest how narrow of an escape that was.

"...I'm practically immortal. Hell, dying does not come easy, so you're going to have to try really hard if you're going to kill me."

If there was any sense of mercy in the Arishok (which there undoubtedly, _wasn't)_ , it was gone at those words. A raging roar filled the Keep and Hawke laughed as she was lifted by the collar of her robes and thrown across the other side of the room like a rag doll.

There was a loud crack as her body hit the wall, followed by a much weaker chuckle.

"...that's it?" Her voice was weak.

"...and here I thought, maybe, you had it in you. The thrill of the battle, the knowledge to give me the fight I want. Tch...useless." She forced herself up again, her right shoulder looking awkward and likely dislocated.

Anders made a comment about her well-being and Fenris didn't care. He just watched this fight, wondering what in the hell Hawke was thinking. What was she after? Was she trying to win or trying to die? He could not tell and perhaps, that was what she wanted. This entire time, she'd spent no spare instance to look at the crowd, to gloat at her expertise.

"...you come here and blame _us_ for surviving. Blame _us_ under your false truths. Blame _us_ for one person's mistakes. Blame _us_ for giving second chances." Hawke's eyes flared and the room crackled suddenly with an increase surge of emotional and magical energy.

Ah, there it was.

Her reason to fight.

"Isabela is one of mine. I _protect_ mine. I give mine second chances. You will not have any more lives on your hands, Arishok. I will not and _cannot_ allow it. No amount of hurt I suffer will change that. The actions of one do not determine the actions of many." She heaved a breath and her face flashed in pain before contorting into anger.

"I tried to understand, but I could not. Try and destroy me to get to what you want, but you will _fail_ because my will to protect is stronger than your will to destroy."

And the fight continued.

No humourous remarks from Hawke and no words still from the Arishok. There was a sudden reinvigorated will to fight on Hawke's end; perhaps a sudden need to see this through.

" _I protect mine. I give mine second chances."_ Even the mages, who continued to disappoint her one after another; the mages who took her mother from her – the mages who continued to betray her left and right.

Fenris did not have her ability to forgive; her ability to grant second chances. One hurt was enough – if she saw it that way, perhaps she would hurt less. Perhaps what had happened to her mother would never have happened.

What ifs, however, did nothing now. It was over and she was fighting for a world that would use her and abuse her. Fighting for a world that probably should be destroyed for hurting her as it had and would probably continue to do.

" _I am here."_ He had told her that night, after everything he had done to her, but he could not resist her in her time of need.

" _I don't know what to say, but I am here."_ With her mother gone, who would stop her from doing such foolish things?

Aveline only inspired the rebel in Hawke.

" _Am I to blame...?"_ Her voice was broken, but there were no tears.

" _...for not saving her?"_ It was a question with no one there who could answer it.

He could not give her the answer she felt she needed and they both knew it. Even so, to sit in silence would do nothing for her; that he was most certain of.

" _You are looking for forgiveness, but I am not the one who can give it to you."_ It was poor, he decided afterwards.

He had come to her to help, and instead had likely only hurt her more. She had said nothing after that, and still there were no tears.

She was a strong woman.

And now, she still only continued to push this thought. She was strong, facing against a Qunari Arishok who had thrown her time and time again, who was trying to break her physically and emotionally and she was not having any of it.

The magic in the air was strong and the fight was going on and on and on, neither side tiring enough for surrender.

It would indeed, be a fight to the death and Fenris was concerned only for her. Hawke. Yet, he was also proud and pleased.

She was someone he respected – there were few who rightfully earned his respect and none of them were mages. Yet, there she was. A mage determined to prove him wrong through her actions, not her words. He may not agree with her actions, but her actions were hers and they knew it.

" _I'm not going to argue with someone set in his ways."_ She said once.

" _I think everyone deserves a second chance."_

" _You're giving them third, fourth, and fifth chances, Hawke. How many more must you give until you're satisfied?"_

" _As many as it takes for them to change – or for me to kill them all."_ He rarely saw her so serious, but something in him tingled when he did.

She was so certain of herself. Even after everything.

"I will –destroy- you!" Her voice brought him to his senses now, and he stepped back as the lyrium _burned_ at her power.

Then it was over, the fight was won. Hawke stumbled, bloody, beaten, but not broken like her bones. It was a miracle that she remained standing at all, Anders would probably say later.

If not for her will, and what he knew of her, Fenris would have agreed.

"It's over. I've won. I've bested your Arishok in battle now _leave._ Honour your agreement." And without a word, the remaining Qunari that plagued the city left.

And Hawke fell, laughing and gripping on her cracked staff to keep her on her knees and not on her stomach.

"Ow, ow, _ow_." Fenris was the first to her side, now that the circle had been broken.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Aveline." Hawke laughed, peering up at the Guard Captain with the widest of grins.

"All in one piece."

"Barely. Anders...?"

"Ah, none of that, thanks." Hawke replied flippantly, getting back to her feet and shaking the group off as best as she could.

"How else will I have an excuse to remove myself from the ceremony?"

Steely expression from Aveline; Hawke surrendered.

"...fine." She uttered finally.

"...and here I was hoping for some alone time after the battle. A woman really can't get any privacy in Kirkwall. How demeaning."

"Enough is enough. You've done being careless enough for one day."

"You ruin all of my fun, Aveline."

"Someone has to." Now that your mother is gone – was unspoken in the air.

Hawke frowned only for the briefest of moments before she sighed.

"...right...then...someone catch me? Since I've reached my careless quota for the day."

And she fell.


	4. She is Dying

Sometimes, Hawke didn't want to wake up.

Not simply from her deepest slumber and tumble about in the Fade where she could recall so much easier all the faces and smells and smiles of those she had lost, but when she fell in battle a small piece of her went 'no, no, no, don't do it, Anders, please let me just sleep forever. Imsotired.'

Still, she woke. Sometimes in her bed, sometimes in Anders' bed, sometimes in the Hanged Man.

Always alone.

Sometimes alone in the most literal sense – no warm body beside her to act as a temporary comfort; everyone busy chatting and trading stories and point of views on how wondrous that battle had been and how Hawke could duel an Arishok and win, but sometimes a bandit got the best of her and how it was funny and terrifying at the same time.

If anyone directed it towards her, she'd laugh and joke saying "it's easier to fight when you guys keep the bandits _off_ of me. I can't really do the whole close combat thing that well, you know."

And it was true, but it wasn't true because she'd bested dragons and Arishoks and darkspawn and she knew it was her pride that said she couldn't let herself die to a _bandit_.

Sometimes Hawke didn't want to wake up. Sometimes, Hawke wanted to die.

But that was sometimes. Not all the time. Never would she go to actively seek her end; usually trouble came to her anyway and it was always _worse_ that the trouble before and never could she rest because how could she die when she had to protect all those people from themselves?

Except she knew she couldn't.

"...I can't save everyone." Mumbled after a tumble and she frowned, naked chest heaving and forehead sweaty and it was gross and beautiful all at the same time.

"No, you can't." Came the reply, but it was soft, not gruff and his eyes stared at her because he must have known, how could he not know?

Hawke was glad she wasn't alone tonight, but by all rights, she should be. Fenris never should have come back – she wasn't prepared for it.

But she was glad all the same.


	5. She is More

Hawke had never wanted power. She'd never wanted titles.

Coin was good, but coin wasn't nearly as important as family and if t wasn't for her family, for the blame put upon her shoulders, she would have been content to wander copperless for the rest of her days.

She did it for her family.

Everything.

The mercenary work – that was for Carver.

The Deep Roads – that was to get Mother her status back.

The manor – it was for whatever was left; a place to hide away to do all those things they used to do when they were family back in Lothering.

But coming to Kirkwall had ruined everything and things were forced upon Hawke that she could not say no to because though she didn't want power or titles, she needed it to survive in a world gone mad. In a world where she needed to protect what she had – for her family.

Now, though, it was all pointless. She laughed at the irony of it all, staring at the mirror in her room at a reflection that wasn't her, moments ticking by that meant nothing, but meant everything and a chest that held everything, but held nothing.

Kirkwall was crumbling.

She needed to go. Where? She didn't know. Didn't care. She'd long since stopped caring because there was nothing that held her here anymore. All that did were those stupid titles and responsibilities she didn't care to have, but even now those meant nothing, because that's what caused all of this.

Her fist hit that mirror and it shattered.

Glass shards riddled her hand and she knew it was a bad idea, but she didn't care because the pain shook away the numbness of it all.

"...Hawke."

"Give me a moment."

Fenris was at her side, quick and silent. She didn't dare look him in those eyes of his; didn't dare to see what she was to him anymore. She crumbled like Kirkwall; everything happened too fast and too much and what was she to do?

She was running because that's all that was left.

Jerked to her senses, the elf took her hand carefully in his and said nothing still as he piece by piece removed the tiny little shards. He was careful and she stared because how could he handle this so well? How could he not blame her?

"...you were right." Her voice was strained, not her voice, but it was.

Fenris spared her a moment's glance.

"About what?"

"...magic." It was an admission that troubled her to her very core; she had stood so faithful in her beliefs, but now they were shattered.

Everything was too much. Magic had ruined everything. She'd seen it. How long until she herself ruined everything? Or was this all because she was a mage? Was it all doomed because of her involvement?

She choked on sudden sobs, everything crashing and burning and crumbling and –

"I let it...I _let_ it. How foolish am I? I fought and I fought and I _tried_ – "

Fenris said nothing and to Hawke, that was enough. Why would he say anything otherwise? He'd known. He'd seen it firsthand, long before she had. What magic could do. How this would end up. She should have done something. She shouldn't have been so naive.

"Anders _used_ me."

"You didn't kill him." Fenris' voice was strained too.

"...I'm still naive. I still hope..."

"I know."

He didn't hate her for this; otherwise he never would have opted to stay at her side. He took his time to bandage her hand.

"We need to go." He said.

"I know." A pause.

"Let's go to Fereldan."

"Yes."


End file.
